“Draco followed me,” I say in a timid voice. “Wants me to go back. I have a few days until Dasc is ready to talk again.”
He shifts his jaw, then shifts it again, and finally pulls his hand away to speak.
“You should work on your training until Hawk gets back from school,” is all he says, then gets up and walks stiffly away.
Well, that went about as well as I expected it would. Part of me wishes he will forgive me and we can just move on, but I know it can never be that simple. If our places were reversed, I would have been yelling. I wait up in the loft as the Green Monster revs to life and Jefferson drives off to who knows where, leaving me alone. I bite down hard on my tongue, punishing myself for my own stupidity, then move into the cabin to hunt for my MP3 player.
I’m still too wound up and tense to even attempt my daily training rounds so I pop in my earbuds and scroll through my playlists to find my parents’ old song. I sit on the lower bunk in the room Hawk and I share and let the melody’s familiar comfort drown out the rest of the world. My eyes close as I try to block out that awful sensation of guilt, of letting down one of the few people that really matter to me in my life. The song plays on repeat for a solid twenty minutes before I finally change into my exercise clothes, pretend to shrug off my worries, and return to the barn.
Jefferson’s been having us get comfortable using the assortment of weapons on our new weapon rack, so I take one collapsible sword off its peg and trot down the loft steps.
The floor of the barn has been cleared for our personal sparring area since we were forced indoors by the heavy snowfall. I stand in the middle, feeling the beat of a techno song, then unlatch the two hooks that hold the blade inside the thick black hilt. The lengths of blade start to drop down one piece at a time. Holding the sword out in front of me, I run my hand along the back of the katana blade to smooth out the segments then give it a good sharp flick to lock them in place to form a single solid blade. It’s not the strongest of swords but it’s extremely convenient to transport. If I manage to pass the trials this summer and get assigned a slayer position, it’ll be one of the weapons I’ll always need to keep on hand. Some monsters can only be stopped by a clean beheading.
Thinking of death, the act of killing another being, besieges me with a rush of adrenaline and it’s like I’m back on that night firing away into Dasc’s chest. My sword hand shakes so I force myself to take slow deep breaths. The shakiness doesn’t really go away so I ignore it as best I can and focus on the pounding beat in my ears. I start to move through the simple steps I learned from my days of training in Underground, matching my movements to the rhythm of my music. It’s easier to remember what I’m supposed to do if I think of them as steps in a dance. I count out the time by the number of songs I listen to and eventually put the sword back to practice on hand to hand combat against a padded dummy.
When it comes time for target practice, I grab a bio-mech gun and my mother’s .45 before heading out to the homemade gun range behind the cabin. My breath clouds before me as I trudge through the half-foot of snow and pin targets to the line before reeling them out. Once in position, I draw up the bio-mech gun and hesitate only briefly before letting off a string of pulses into the paper target. The pulses make the target wave like it’s been hit by a strong gust of wind but that’s it. No explosion, no holes tearing through the thin paper. It’s always easier practicing with the bio-mech gun. I practice shooting while moving side to side, dropping to one knee, moving back, moving forward, and even try a few rolls in the snow before coming up to fire.
Tucking the bio-mech gun into my back pocket, I pull my mother’s gun out of the holster Jefferson got for me. I know the gun like the back of my hand, each curve, each component, the weight, the feel. It’s a part of me now. I ratchet the slide and take aim at the paper target.
Dasc’s face pops into my head, like it does every time I draw my weapon. I can see him sneering at me. I remember how he tried to have Hawk kill me. My face burns thinking of what he put Hawk through and what he did to my family. He said he tried to make Hawk and me his family in some perverted, twisted, inhuman way—
I picture his face on the target and fire, and fire again, and again, and again, until the slide locks back because it’s out of bullets. My breath is labored as I study the destruction. My tight grouping has blown out the center of the target. I’ve really taken my firearm training in stride after what happened with Dasc. There’s no room for error. I need to be prepared. Yet, despite my level of improvement, the shakes are back in my hand. I flex my fingers several times and shake out my arms. Pixies, I hate feeling like this. I’m a junior agent with the International Monster Slayers. How am I supposed to slay anything if I can’t even hold a gun steady?
“Well, remind me not to tick you off,” a voice says behind me.
I jump and whip about to aim my empty gun at Deputy Graham. He’s in his sheriff’s uniform holding a box of jerseys in his arms and raises an eyebrow at me. I quickly lower my weapon and run a hand down my face.
“You should know better than to sneak up on someone in the middle of target practice,” I say, still catching my breath after getting spooked.
“I do,” he says. “That’s why I waited to say something until after your gun was empty.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose then turn my attention to unlocking the slide and holstering the .45. “Can I help you with something, Deputy?”
“Just dropping off the jerseys from the game.” He shrugs the box in his arms. “And wondering if you’ve heard any more about Mr. Krushnic or Dasc or whatever his name is.”
The blood drains out of my face. I should have known Deputy Graham would be coming around again soon. Ever since Dasc was arrested, he’s been hounding us for information like we’ve been hounding Witty for updates. Jefferson isn’t the only one who lost someone to Dasc. The deputy’s sister disappeared too. I panic and do something really stupid and unfair. I lie.
“No, nothing yet. I’m sorry.”
He nods and rolls his lips, clearly disappointed. I pull in my target using the pulleys on the range so I don’t have to look him in the eye.
“So, umm,” the deputy says uncertainly, appearing to be grasping for a topic for conversation. “Hawk’s really a pro. He did great at the game the other day.”
“Yeah, that’s Hawk for you.” I gather the targets in my hand and gesture for the deputy to follow me into the barn. “He’s competitive. He works hard to win.”
I lead the way up the stairs and Deputy Graham follows, taking off his wide brimmed hat and tucking it under his arm. We reach the loft and I put the targets on Jefferson’s desk so he can see I did my firearm training for the day. I was supposed to go through a few rounds but one clip is good enough for me today.
“It’s not just that though,” the deputy says and leans against the railing at the top of the stairs. “I know some of us are a little awkward as—well, as our other half.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “But he’s a natural.”
I brace my hands on Jefferson’s desk and stare at the blank monitor screen. The deputy’s comment strikes me as odd. Is he really trying to compliment Hawk on his natural werewolf skills? Skills he should never have had in the first place but was forced into them because a deranged maniac bit him? Am I supposed to say thanks that my brother has gotten so good at becoming one with his inner demon? Any response I might make sounds bitter in my head and I don’t want to snap at Deputy Graham. He’s a good man.
“It makes me wonder sometimes,” the deputy says, his voice trailing off.
“Wonder what, exactly?” I say, a bite to my words.
His hazel eyes meet mine and they aren’t accusatory but sad. “If that’s why Dasc took my sister,” he says quietly. “Because some people adapt to it better than others. I don’t know.” He combs his shaggy hair back with his fingers and puts his hat on. “Just wish I knew why any of it happened, you know?”
I bite my lip and look away. “Yea
h. Me too.”
“Take care, Phoenix. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
He trots down the stairs and a short while later I hear the growl of an engine as he takes off in his squad car. He’s left me with something more to think about. How many more guilt trips am I going to go through today?
I retreat into the cabin and take a shower. Jefferson still isn’t back by the time I’m out. He could be anywhere and I’m not inclined to bother him anyway. If he needs space, he can have it. I glance at the clock. It’s 2:15. School won’t be over for another hour so I’m on my own until Hawk gets out. Time moves too slowly and I’ve got too much time to think again.
This is probably a bad idea, and an unhealthy obsession, but I leave a note saying I’m gone for whoever returns to the cabin first, then grab the SUV keys and head out. The back roads aren’t in great condition, there’s not even salt, but I pass someone with a plow on the front of their truck going in the opposite direction clearing off what they can. I take the familiar route that I can drive blindfolded by now and turn onto the long driveway, using the tracks from the last time I came here as a guide. The SUV slides to a stop on a slick of ice right in front of my parents’ old house.
Jefferson and Hawk don’t know I still come here. I came once with Jefferson and again with my brother, but that was enough for them. Now I always find an excuse to take a quick drive by while on other business or pretend I’m taking my sweet time at the movie rental store while I’m actually walking through the house. For some reason I can’t leave this place alone. I dream about it sometimes, about that night when everything changed.
It’s definitely seen better days but I’ve at least fixed the weather door, boarded up the windows, and even installed new locks on the doors. But everything is still peeling paint like bad sunburn. The porch steps are crooked. The roof is in terrible repair and, with the last snowfall, I won’t be surprised if it eventually caves in. It’s a horrible reminder of what I’ve lost, but it’s also the only place Hawk and I had with our parents. It belongs to us. It has our memories, remembered and forgotten. If I leave it to rot, what does that say about me? Maybe I can’t fix the past but I can at least try to fix this stupid house.
I get out of the SUV and wade through the drifts of snow that reach up to my knees. I navigate along the outside edge of the steps to avoid the decayed center and use the only set of keys to enter the front door. There are some fresh signs of creature activity but nothing as bad as the first time I came to this place. A broom sits beside the door where I left it, so I start to sweep up the debris and shrew turds. After a round through the first floor, I unlock the back door and brush it all outside.
It’s only then I see a pair of tracks in the thick snow. Small footprints with a deeper imprint in the back, like a little woman wearing boots with a heel, go from the woods to the back deck, to one of the only windows not boarded up looking into the kitchen. Someone’s been peeking inside. There’s even a little cleared circle on the dirty window where someone could have wiped it with the edge of their sleeve to see inside better. I set the broom aside, heart pounding in my chest, and carefully follow the footprints to the tree line.
There’s less snow under the thick branches of the evergreens but there’s still enough. I manage to follow the tracks through the trees until they eventually lead out to the road and disappear on the blacktop. I stand on the shoulder looking one way and then the other, even though whoever it was is long gone. The tracks are at least a day old or more by my estimate, which probably isn’t a great estimate anyway. That’s more Hawk’s area of expertise.
What if they had been looking in while I was here before? A chill goes down my spine. I really, really don’t like the thought of someone watching me, especially when I don’t even realize it. I shudder and jog back along my own tracks to the house. I make sure to lock the rear door and then, just to be cautious, check through all the rooms. Nothing’s been moved or disturbed recently, so that’s something at least. I’m really glad I decided to put locks on the doors.
I exit and lock the front door behind me. It’s quiet here and there’s hardly ever any traffic on the road. You think I’d notice if someone crept up while I was here. So maybe they didn’t come when I was here. Maybe it was some kid just checking out a creepy old house on a dare. It could be nothing. It could be something. It could be everything.
“Pixies, I’m paranoid,” I mutter to myself and sigh, watching my breath mist before me. “With good reason, I guess.”
Before returning to the SUV, I trudge through another drift to sit in the tire swing hanging from the massive oak out front. Ice cracks up the rope when I settle in and try to swing a little. The frigid tire starts to numb my legs but I stay awhile longer, glancing at my phone to check the time every so often.
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I just about jump out of my skin. The number isn’t one I recognize but I pick it up anyway.
“Hello?”
“Mason?” It’s Charlie. Oh, for the love of humanity. It had to be him calling.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I sigh.
“It’s Junior Agent Jaeger.” As if I could forget. He sounds a bit stiff, awkward even.
“Can I help you?” I ask, hoping to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.
“We might have found a lead on our vampire and Gillian.”
I’m surprised he’s actually admitting the existence of a vampire now. “Gillian’s still missing?”
“Well, yeah.” Through the phone in the background I hear a thud and soft “ow,” then some hostile whispering before he continues. “Yes, she is still missing. I did, however, manage to track down a few witnesses who saw Gillian getting hauled off.”
I can’t help it. I’m extremely curious. “She was taken?”
“I got a description of a car involved and located it abandoned in the middle of a hub of warehouses. I was about to go clear through those buildings but Melody’s got her hands full trying to keep the other selkies from barging down there themselves and screwing everything up. And Chip and Rodney still aren’t back from the Boundary Waters.” He lets out a very audible sigh. Who are Chip and Rodney? “I need your help.”
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” I say, that inclination to start an argument surfacing again since it’s Charlie. “I thought you didn’t need help from someone like me.”
“Oh, you mean cranky and irresponsible—OW! Stop hitting me!” There’s shuffling over the line and I can hear Melody hissing something at him. Eventually there’s silence and Charlie comes back on.
“I would very much appreciate it if you would come and be my backup.” He clears his throat. “Pretty please?”
Chapter 7
When I call Jefferson to tell him the Duluth team needs us, he hardly says anything at all. He just sort of grunts and acknowledges what I’ve said. It’s like trying to walk on glass and every second of it is painful.
“So, what’s the plan? Who should go up there?” I ask, having to forcibly draw an answer from him.
“Grab your brother. You can go up together and watch each other’s back. I’ll man the office.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just go, Phoenix.”
The line clicks. I swallow and stare at my phone like it wants to take a bite out of me too. I understand why he’s angry but this hurts after everything we’ve been through. I also can’t let this distract me right now. I start up the SUV, work my way to the heart of Moose Lake, and pull into the school parking lot. There’s five minutes left until the bell rings so I park facing away from the school to ensure none of the teachers spot me when I’m supposed to be out sick or whatever excuse Hawk made up for me today.
While I wait, I send my brother a text to let him know to head out immediately and look for me. I fiddle with the radio until I hear the distant school bell. Practically seconds later Hawk flies out the door, yards ahead of everyone else. I honk the horn and his hea
d swivels in my direction. He takes off at a jog and wrenches open the passenger door when he reaches me.
“Are we running?” is the first thing he says then tosses his backpack into the footwell and slides inside.
I shake my head and he heaves a sigh. It’s probably a bad thing that running is our first instinct. Maybe we wouldn’t be so inclined if Hawk was actually using the serum and I wasn’t a blossoming nuclear reactor.
As soon as Hawk buckles in, I get us moving towards the interstate. My brother just watches me.
“I know I said I filled my hug quota but I think I need to make an exception for you,” he says. “You look like crap, Phoenix. What happened to your hand? Fill me in.”
The story spills out of me, starting from my arrival at Underground, to Draco following me to Moose Lake, to Jefferson’s reaction, to lying to Deputy Graham. I leave out the bit about visiting our parents’ house. I’ll keep that secret for a while.
“You should have seen Jefferson’s face,” I say, voicing my fears. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Hawk says. “He’ll come around.”
“His missing daughter is at stake. He’s not going to just get over that. I screwed up.”
“Can anyone really blame you for what happened?” He shakes his head and gazes out the windshield. “I want to rip Dasc’s throat out for saying that crap to you.”
The aggression in his voice makes me sneak a look at him. His face is drawn into a deep frown and he has one foot up on the seat, propping up his knee. He looks casually dangerous, if that’s even a thing, but Hawk manages to pull it off.
“I don’t get why he wanted me there in the first place,” I say.
“Phoenix, you almost killed him. He made the IMS desperate enough to give him anything he wanted, so he asked for you to torment you. He’s a monster.”
I worry my lower lip. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” He slugs me lightly in the arm. “Forget about him for now, okay? Worry about it when you have to go back.”
The Bite of Winter (International Monster Slayers Book 2) Page 9